


Herding the Electric Sheep

by factorielle



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: F/M, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-18
Updated: 2010-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/factorielle/pseuds/factorielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Want and need are entirely different things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Herding the Electric Sheep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glittertine](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=glittertine).



"Not bad as a business model, but!" Topher Brinks is waving a didactic index finger at something only he can see as he paces her office, and Adelle may never understand how he has survived so far in this world when his body and face give everything away.

"But?" she inquires, and makes the effort not to glance at Dominic, who while better trained, is not any less expressive in his dislike of the house scientist.

"But, I have studied the human brain long enough to tell you with absolute certainty that want is one of the most fickle emotions there is. Today I want khao phat kai, but tomorrow I'll be jonesing for a hamburger, and if that's when the thai place delivers, I'll be mad at them for not giving me what I want. And I paid for it, too!"

"Thank you for the accessible metaphor, mister Brink. What is your point?"

He stops mid-pace, looks at her as though he didn't remember she was there.

"Most people don't even know what they want, let alone being able to explain it rationally to a computer. I did my best to improve the original list of scenarios, which, by the way, did the people who wrote that even pass eight grade sociology?"

"The scenario tree was written by some of the best minds in--" Adelle raises a hand, and Dominic falls back to his position without a further word, fuming.

"I admit that the current protocol is imperfect, but no applicable improvement has been offered so far. Is there something you wish to suggest?"

His face lights up. "Yes! Thank you very much for asking, yes! Instead of selling people what they want, or think they want at the moment they write you a check- how much do you make them pay for that again? Sorry, sorry, trade secret, not enough clearance, I know. Instead of that, we can give them what they need! See, the previous installation was" dismissive wave of his left hand as the right's index points in the air "pretty much useless for imprinting, but it'll work well enough in read-only mode."

Even she has to show a reaction to that. "Put our clients in the chair? You cannot be serious!"

He stops again, frowns at her. "It's not that bad. A little unpleasant, sure, but to get their heart's deepest wish? Instead of guesswork and interpretation, they can sit down for five minutes, and voila!" A flourish of his hand, the smile of a child solving a difficult puzzle, "We can remember it for them wholesale!" It's a few seconds of expectant silence before he frowns again. "You don't know much Dick, do you?"

She doesn't move, doesn't twitch a muscle, but Dominic's face has frozen into a mask of cold rage.

Topher looks surprised at the lack of reaction, tilts his head. "Philip K., I mean. One of the fathers of science-fiction? No? Anyway. That was not a crack on-- I mean, no. Not at all. I would never."

"Leaving aside the matter of literary references, implementing your offer would defeat the purpose of our confidentiality agreements."

"No no no no! That's the beauty of it! I can wire it so the chair talks directly to the scenario tree, and improves it on the way, if necessary. We don't have to know anything more than now, the output will be a lot more accurate, and you can probably charge one more zero for our services."

Behind Topher's exalted face, Dominic is still frowning, as is his wont; beside him, a bottle of fifty-years-old scotch shows no reaction. She might need some of this tonight.

"Thank you, mister Brink. Your suggestion will be given due consideration."  


* * *

The enhanced machinery is set up in the client output room three doors down her office, as inconspicuous as a massage chair hooked to a laptop. She oversees its installation despite her lack of understanding of the technology, dismisses Topher, and, alone, sits in the chair.

Classical music begins to play, an unpleasant reminder of Soylent Green which Topher can not have failed to notice; she may have to write him a sternly worded memo. A soothing female voice assures her that nothing will be recorded, or even sent for further processing unless she explicitely agrees to it, and the chair lowers itself into position. The process is not even as unpleasant as the regular self copies that protocol imposes on all Dollhouse staff; it pinches, makes her whole body shudder once, twice, then the music stops and the voice asks her to look at the computer screen to find out the details of her heart's desire and choose to send it down for personality compiling - the wording will have to be changed, she thinks, Topher has no concept of user-friendliness for users that are not him.

She looks at the screen.

Reads.

Reads again.

And laughs, in a voice that is not hers, can't possibly be hers, too weak and brittle to ever resemble the person she is now.

She laughs still as she presses Cancel, furiously, and goes through the first request for confirmation and the second and the third, then heads back to her office where mister Dominic peers at her inquisitively.

Two hours later, and three glasses of scotch, she goes back and inputs a request manually. Later, downstairs, Topher will show disappointment that the first client after the installation didn't request to use the chair. She can tell him, perhaps, that Miss Lonelyhearts thought herself too old to undergo the reading process.

And he will never know.


End file.
